Stirred Up

Chapter 1

Gage

People watching from behind the bar at my family’s beloved Colombian hotspot, El Abrevadero, is my favorite pastime.

I’ve worked here in some capacity for the past twelve years, and there is never a shortage of intrigue.

I get to witness human interaction at its most raw and honest when folks meet up for a drink or two.

Truths come out, drama unfolds, declarations are made, all right in front of my eyes. It’s fascinating.

Right now I have a man sitting with a whiskey who is pale and drawn after he confessed to me that he lost his job today, a woman comforting her friend who is crying her eyes out because she caught her boyfriend cheating, a couple mooning over each other with margaritas and our famous arepas, and a group of friends celebrating their intramural softball team win with a round of the IPA we have on tap.

It’s the full gamut of emotions going on all at once.

I check on the two friends to see whether they need more wine, and the woman who was cheated on gives me a tearful nod.

Her friend only wants water now since she’s driving.

I learn that the woman who was cheated on is named Carly, and her friend is Amanda as I chat with them while I work.

Once I quickly pour their drinks and hand them over, Amanda moves to hand me her credit card.

I shake my head and push it back to her.

“On the house. Fuck that guy, yeah?” I tell them.

“Yeah, fuck him!” her and her friend cry out loudly in unison, saluting me with their glasses.

This is what I love about my job. I get to bring some measure of joy or comfort to people when they’re either celebrating or feeling low.

As long as everyone drinks safely and responsibly, of course.

I’ve cut off more people and taken more sets of keys than I can possibly count.

Thank goodness for rideshare apps making getting people home safely a lot easier.

With everyone seemingly taken care of for now, I take a minute to absorb all of the sounds, sights, and smells of El Abrevadero.

It’s my family’s pride and joy. The drummer of the live band taps out a beat that vibrates through me as he warms up.

My hand coasts along the sleek black lacquer of the bar, the cold hardness soothing under my palm.

The decor as a whole is a black backdrop with large splashes of color, such as the mosaic backsplash of the bar and the blue hanging lamps that provide perfect mood lighting.

I’m hit with a burst of citrus as one of my best bartenders, Iggy, restocks the lemon and lime wedges to my right.

He gives me a smile and a nod as he replaces the now filled containers.

“How’s it going, Iggy?” I bump his shoulder.

In my periphery, a woman who just took a seat right in front of him audibly sighs as she checks him out.

Anyone attracted to men adores him with his piercing blue eyes, dark hair that’s shaved on one side, and tattoos covering his whole torso.

Only his parents are allowed to full name him though, he hates being called Ignacio.

“All good, boss. The lemon hibiscus margarita is still selling a ton, I need to go back and grab another bottle of the Casa Noble Blanco, since what we have on hand is almost finished.”

“Excellent, thank you. Once you grab the bottle it’s time for your break, okay?”

“Sure thing!” He gives me a high five before he trots off to the back room.

The heady aroma of our famous arepas wafts in from the kitchen as one of the servers hustles to bring out an order for the man with the whiskey.

It’s our signature dish, and our cook can never make them fast enough.

My abuela spent years perfecting the recipe back in Colombia, so seeing her hard work pay off is so gratifying.

Infinite happy memories of watching her make them flood through me with just that one delectable smell.

They’re by far our best sellers, but we also sell a ton of snacky foods, like plantain patties called patacones, and sharing platters of assorted meats called fritanga.

After checking on the softball team and making a quick round through the tables, I notice some napkins and garbage on the floor underneath the table next to the front door.

I kneel down to reach it, then sit back on my heels to get up.

Before I can, I see the front door open right in front of me, letting in the muggy early July air.

I’m met with the sight of comfy looking white sneakers with little white socks peeking out.

Those feet lead my gaze up a set of shapely legs to the hem of a simple sky blue dress.

When my eyes continue scanning up, they meet the stormy grey eyes of Celeste Martino, her brow arched in amusement that I’m literally kneeling before her.

“Not how I’m usually greeted when I walk into a bar, but I have to say I’m a fan,” she smirks. Her voice is so deep, rich, and warm that it feels like velvet coasting over my skin. I get up and flash her a grin.

“I always aim to please,” I tell her with a wink.

Fuck, she’s stunning. Flaming red hair falls down around her in loose waves to her shoulders, set against her creamy skin.

The most endearing dusting of freckles splatters across the bridge of her nose.

It’s her eyes that get me the most, though.

They always seem to have a glint in them, and look a little wild.

The blue of her dress makes the grey of them brighter somehow.

We’ve flirted like this ever since she first came into my bar and stole my breath a few weeks ago.

My good friend Carlo and his girlfriend Tania brought her here when she moved in with them.

Tania is her foster sister, and they’re helping her out while she gets on her feet.

She works at a diner nearby, so she’s come in a handful of times after her shift. It always makes my day when she does.

She’s been alone almost every time I’ve seen her, I’m worried something is wrong. Usually she and Tania are thick as thieves.

“Then hook a woman up with a margarita, please, because it’s been a day,” she says with a tired smile.

We fall into step back to the bar, and I head behind to grab the fresh bottle Iggy brought up. She slings her diner apron and bag across the back of the high back chair.

“You want lemon hibiscus again?”

“Strawberry basil this time, I think. Switch it up a little,” she tells me with a little smack to the bar for emphasis. I nod and get to mixing.

“Tough day at the diner?”

“Just a long one, I worked a double. I’m not ready to head back to the apartment though, I don’t want to intrude on Carlo and Tania’s love nest. It’s their usual movie night.”

I finish pouring her drink, add the basil garnish, and hand it to her.

Our fingers brush, the sensation like an electric jolt.

She takes her first sip with a hum of pleasure, and it makes my heart flip uncomfortably.

My reactions to her are way too strong, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

I damn near fell over the first time I saw her like a chump.

There’s also the fact that I know the bare bones of how much she’s been through in the past few months, and the last thing she needs is my sorry ass panting after her. I try to focus on treating her like any other customer, and listen to her talk about her day instead of ogling.

“Are they making you feel unwelcome? I’ll have some strong words with Carlo if they are,” I tell her, feeling a little defensive on her behalf for some reason. At least this maybe sheds light on why she’s been coming alone.

“Of course not!” Those stormy eyes flash indignantly. “You know they would never do that. I’ve also never seen my little sister so happy. It’s just not exactly fun being the third wheel, you know?”

I make a sound of agreement.

“I know they wouldn’t do that. You should be comfortable at their place all the same, and not worry about intruding on them.”

“But if I didn’t hide out here, how would we have these wonderful conversations?” she taunts playfully.

I snort out a laugh.

“It would gut me to not have these conversations, hide out here as much as you want.”

She shimmies in her seat with satisfaction at my answer, shooting me a little smile of her own. Then her face grows more serious.

“The housing market is bonkers, it’s so hard to find anything affordable,” she says quietly. “I need to find something soon so that I can get out of their hair.”

“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, okay?”

“Thanks, Gage,” she says with a grateful nod.

“Enjoy your drink, I’ll be back to check on you.

” Giving the bar a little tap, I take care of the next customers and make sure everyone has what they need.

I tense as I watch one of the softball players approach the bar, looking like he’s going to hit on Celeste.

Joke’s on me, because he turns and approaches Carly and Amanda, pointing toward his table and smiling at them as he seemingly asks them to join the group.

Within a few minutes, the women are in the laps of the guy who invited them over and his friend. Good for them.

Thinking about why I got tense when I thought he was approaching Celeste is not a path I’m going to go down, especially in the middle of a busy time.

Telling myself it’s only because I feel protective of her is the story I’m sticking to.

I continue churning out drinks and cashing out tabs, making sure everyone who comes into my bar is always well taken care of.

In my periphery, I see Celeste down the last of her margarita and wave to me while throwing down a few bills.

I jerk my chin at her and head over to say goodbye.

“So do you like the strawberry basil better or the lemon hibiscus?”

“I love them both, don’t fish for compliments on your bartending skills,” she teases. “See you around, Gage.”

I huff a laugh.

“Get home safe, Celeste, and come back soon. Say hi to Carlo and Tania for me.”